I can state with ease, and it is a well established fact, I am something of a record geek. I prefer the term ‘record collector’ or even ‘music buff,’ but I can live with the ‘geek’ moniker.  Now I also know as a matter of fact, my wife wishes wholeheartedly I wasn’t such a collector/geek. See, there’s a particular and peculiar trait in people like me, and it’s called “the completist syndrome.” The definition: “somebody who collects a particular kind of thing and wants to obtain an example of everything available, even of inferior items.” I can’t just buy a CD of one of my favorite artists and be content, I feel compelled to collect everything in their discography … everything.

Let’s say I’m a Paula Abdul fan. I would have to collect, not just all her full length CD’s and Albums, but I would find it compulsory to track down every single variant of "Straight Up" or "Opposites Attract" in its many forms: 7” singles, CD singles, 12 inch singles, remix here, remix there…

side note: I ‘m not a Paula Abdul fan at all. In fact I can easily state, again as fact, I think she erred in not fulfilling her destiny as a Lakers Cheerleader. In fact, I believe her going into the music industry caused some kind of “butterfly effect,”  which might explain the personality of our chaotic American lives since the eighties. And to think, I always blamed everything on Ronald Wilson Reagan, (here’s one reason, just add up the letters, he’s President 666. Coincidence? There are no coincidences! Know what I mean ...)

This was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful morning - a relaxing respite from the 21st century’s annoying concoction of curs, vipers, vermin, polecats, mongrels and insects that whore of the will of the people. Maybe its just my brain demonstrating its independence. Maybe I’ve finally reached curmudgeon enlightenment years ahead of schedule. Maybe it’s just the goddamn news, but I attempt to start the day with a renewed sense of calm. I don’t read the paper. I don’t turn on the radio. I don’t turn on the TV. I don’t read my emails. It’s a blather free morning.

But while I sit at my desk wondering what I should write about next, the sound of jack hammers suddenly emanates from the house directly behind us. My neighbor is actually tearing up his entire cemented backyard and plans on putting in a garden! There you have it: gentrification!

Anyway, here is one last look at some of the art work on our boxes of used 7 inch records. I wish I had done some of this artwork myself but, like the jackhammers, my only true talents are more in the nature of noise: the ability to make those kind of sounds 5 year olds forge and the aptitude to blather - like the venerable curmudgeon chain smoking at a bus stop in Hollywood, nursing a cup of coffee from 7-11, jawing about the flotsam and jetsam that has decimated some of the finer gutters in Los Angeles. “Strength through blather! Strength through blather!”

But back to the subject at hand—art. Enjoy.

 

I went to go see Patti Smith at the Fillmore last night. If you have ever seen her before then you know how amazing she is to see perform live. She did an instore at Amoeba in Hollywood. You can watch the great interview with her and Logan by going here. I know I throw around the word amazing a lot. But nobody deserves it more than her. She really has some power that I can not even explain. This power sort of takes over everyone in the crowd and it is something that will stay with you the rest of your life.

I never got the chance to see Patti in the 70's or 80's. It was not until about 6 or so years ago that I saw her for the first time. It was right after the release of "Gung Ho" and was also at the Fillmore in S.F. A sort of perfect place to see her. These days, I am often one of the oldest in the crowd. So it is always weird to be at a show like this where I am one of the youngest. It does not really matter who you are though. She will put out her power over the whole crowd. I swear, she should just run for president or something. But I think she has already found her calling. She has created some amazing music over the years. Her debut, "Horses," came out the year after I was born. It remains my favorite of hers and I am sure the favorite of many.  They actually just gave it a nice little reissue deluxe treatment a couple of years ago. Three years later came "Easter," which includes her awesome version of "Because the Night."

Charles Saatchi, with his brother, founded the international advertising agency Saatchi & Saatchi, but Charles' greater fame is as an art collector who has dominated the contemporary art market in Britain since the early 1980s. In fact, the the 1999 retrospective, “Young British Artists: The Saatchi Decade,” uses his name to define an entire contemporary art scene. Yeah, it would be cool to convince him to “invest” in our arty 7 inch record boxes and help us poor old ‘45 Room’ employees with our kid’s college funds, but word on the boulevard is he’s a recluse. In my book that’s just a fancy word for record geek. And that is a compliment.

Here we are, once again with more examples of the fine artwork rendered on the sides of our used 7 inch record boxes. Some of these formerly plain/primitive white boxes are on the Amoeba Hollywood floor available for your perusal; others are, for now, hidden away in what we call The 45 Room, or to those with less enthusiasm for the little record with the big hole 'that used 7 inch pricing room.'

However, romantics everywhere simply whisper in hushed tones: “vinyl Shangri-la!”

The question I’m often asked: “Hey, Whitmore, if the 45 room is actually a Shangri-la, a heaven on earth so to speak, is there an afterlife, like a 7 inch heaven? And if there is a 7 inch heaven, is there a 7 inch god?”

I always answer with a glint in my eye and a friendly smile on my face, “You know, I’m not sure, but I’d like to think there is one somewhere out there in the dark.”

Hopefully you’ll enjoy this further examination of Amoeba’s own home grown outsider art. And just like there is always another used gem of a record coming on down the pike, there’s always some new artwork gunning its engine, ready to lay some rubber down in Amoeba Hollywood.